


Brothers in Arms (2/5)

by totheletter



Series: Brothers In Arms [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, San Francisco Giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totheletter/pseuds/totheletter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A confession starts to fracture a once-solid team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers in Arms (2/5)

**Disclaimer:** There is no way you could possibly believe this is true. In fact, according to documents obtained through FOIA, this fic was staged inside an aircraft hangar at Area 51.

\-----

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"I mean, _wow_."

"Yeah."

For the second time that morning, Buster and Madison found themselves sitting in a bright, impersonal office, spilling what until that morning had been an astonishingly well-guarded secret. The day started in Bochy's office, and this second meeting was being held down in the media relations department. Madison wasn't quite sure what media relations people did, except tell him to be at certain events. He didn't know what help that was supposed to provide now. The taller one, the guy, he remembered from a previous event in San Jose. His name was Joel. The woman sitting to his left he'd never met. Her AT&T Park ID badge read, "Sandy."

"Guys, I have to tell you, we've never encountered anything quite like this," Joel said.

"Never," Sandy parroted.

"But there's precedent," Sabean said, scratching his beard. "Billy Bean? Glenn Burke? Hell, that Piazza guy. Wasn't he gay?"

Sandy winced. "Billy Bean didn't come out until after his career was over. Glenn Burke's coming out pretty much ended his career, and then it killed him. And Mike Piazza's always denied he's gay."

"Shit," Sabean said. "Boch, you wanna throw in here?"

The skipper smacked on a piece of gum. "The season begins in less than a week. What kind of damage control do we have here?"

"Not much of anything," Joel replied. "Buster said he doesn't know who took the picture. It's a city of 800,000 people, any one of which could have potentially been at Golden Gate Park that day. It's pretty clear we have a slim chance of controlling the story. This is going to get out. And Sandy's right. We don't have a precedent here. No one's ever come out while in the majors, and certainly not under duress. This is the most difficult way to handle a difficult situation."

"Though it does open the door to tap into the LGBT market," Sandy said.

Joel turned to face her. "You know, you're right. The gay and lesbian population tends to be more affluent, and that could mean higher ticket revenues and merchandising opportunities."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Sandy replied. "What if we--"

"What if we just stay on topic for a minute," Bochy said. "Can we do that before these guys turn into a sideshow for marketing?"

"How about we just not say anything?" Sabean asked. "Is that an option?"

"That's going to work only if whoever took the picture holds on to it," Sandy said. "But they sell it to ESPN or the _Chronicle_ or, God forbid, Deadspin...there's your nuclear option."

"Geez, yeah," Joel said. "That happens without us saying something -- well, that's gonna rock us back on our heels. It would be a huge blow to the team."

Sabean's voice grew impatient. "So we need to say something."

Joel nodded. "And say it first. If the information is coming from us, we could maybe, possibly, exert some control over the tone of the story. Plus, we take the leverage away from whoever snapped this photo. They don't have so much power over us anymore. We make the information public, and the shock value decreases."

"Yeah," Bochy said, "But we go out there and say, 'Hey, guess what, America! Two of our marquee players are screwing around with each other!' Then what? People aren't just going to ignore that."

Joel folded his hands together on his desk. "They're going to get some buffer being here in San Francisco. I know that sounds stereotypical, but it's true. The team won't see nearly as much damage as it would if we were in, say, Dallas or something. But going on the road? That's going to be trouble. Fans are not going to welcome this news with open arms."

Sabean nodded. "Yeah, I get all that. So what are some concrete options?"

Joel and Sandy exchanged uncomfortable looks. "Can you give us until the end of the day?"

"At the _latest_ ," Sabean answered. "We cannot wait on this."

Sandy adopted a faux-warm smile. "Buster? Madison? You guys haven't said anything in a while. Do you have anything to add?"

Buster looked at Madison, who was still beyond pissed. "Uh, no ma'am."

"I got something," Bochy said. "I think we have to share this with the team today. Anything you can give us that's going to help soften the blow?"

Madison's stomach turned. Sandy looked at Joel, then back at the four men in front of her. "Play up the positives. The two of you helped win a World Series. You're good teammates. This news shouldn't change any of that. And if someone disagrees, they'll come around. I've been with the Giants organization for more than a decade, and this is the most coherent, unified team I've ever seen. Do not be afraid to remind them who you are."

"Okay guys," Bochy said. "One o'clock. The clubhouse."

*****

  
Sunlight flooded Posey's vision as Bumgarner opened the door to the players' parking lot. He shielded his eyes with his hand as he walked slightly behind the pitcher. "Bum, I know you're mad at me."

"What the hell," Bumgarner drawled. "Give the man an award for detective work."

"It was stupid of me to get us into this. I know that. I was dumb. But people make mistakes."

"Damn, Buster! This isn't forgetting to mail the light bill! You're going to cost me my career!"

Buster jumped in front of Bumgarner and shoved him into the side of his truck. Madison yelped in surprise and in pain. Buster threw himself against Bumgarner, pinning him to the side of the vehicle. He braced his right forearm across Madison's chest, making it hard for the younger man to even draw a deep breath.

"The hell's gotten into you?" Madison yelled. "You're hurting me!"

"You're hurting _me_ ," Posey growled. "What I did was stupid, yes. It got us into major trouble, yes. And I wish I could take it all back. God, Madison, I wish I could take it all back. But we are both in this boat, and all I've heard from you today is how much _I've_ jeopardized _your_ career."

His jaw tightened. "I lost almost all of last year because of that broken ankle. The whole season, I craved coming back to this team. It's _my_ career too, god damn it! I'm doing all the explaining in there, and you're playing the victim card. You think I'm not going down in flames if this thing blows up? Do you think you're the only one who's going to be hurt by this? Twenty hours ago, my life made sense, too. Do not _dare_ act like I did this to you and you alone. _Do not dare_. I won't tolerate it."

Posey lifted his weight off Bumgarner. He took his arm off Madison's chest, leaving the pitcher stunned. Posey glared at him for a long moment, then turned around and walked away, toward the Third Street entrance to the lot.

"Where are you going?" Madison shouted.

"Away!" Posey responded. "I need time to clear my head before this stupid team meeting!"

Bumgarner's mind reeled as he watched Posey's back recede to the exit. Madison couldn't do anything but stand in the parking lot and catch his breath. He relied on Posey to do the heavy lifting when it came to situations that required critical thinking. Now, everything was upside-down. He didn't know to whom he could turn.

Except, perhaps, one man.

*****

  
Matt Cain answered opened his front door and smiled. "Come on in, man."

Madison followed him down a short hallway to the kitchen. "Get you some water or something?" Cain asked.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Madison replied. Cain grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the counter in front of Bumgarner. Madison grabbed the bottle and twisted off the cap. He guzzled the cold liquid and remembered how long it had been since he'd had something to drink. He set the bottle back down and thanked the older pitcher.

"You okay, Bumgarner?" Cain said. "You don't look so good."

"They found out," Madison whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"They found out."

Cain's face twisted in confusion. "I still don't--"

"Buster and me," Madison said. "Boch and Sabean found out Buster and me are together."

Cain's eyes widened. He wrapped one of his strong hands around Madison's shoulder. "How -- I mean, what happened..."

Madison closed his eyes, playing back the previous day in his head. "We did something dumb. So damn dumb. I was giving Buster...I was, y'know--" he took a breath. "I was giving Buster a blowjob, and someone took a picture of it."

"My God."

"Yeah."

"Do you know who did it?"

"No."

Matt pulled Bumgarner to him, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry, Bum. I'm so sorry."

It occurred to Bumgarner it was the first time since the incident anyone said that to him. And he felt awful about Cain having to be the one to do it. "No, Matt. I'm sorry. This is gonna be bad for the team."

Matt released Madison. "Maybe. But who gives a fuck. They have a problem with it, they can talk to me."

Bumgarner forced a laugh.

"Seriously," Cain said, "If anyone has a problem with it, I'll kick their ass. And you know these guys as well as I do. They're not going to hate you."

"How do you know?"

Cain's voice carried the tone of authority Madison had been seeking. "Because we are teammates. This is what we do. You remember when Ron Washington said he tried coke? His team closed ranks around him. How about when Junior was caught falling asleep in the Mariners' clubhouse? The team defended him. Now, are you or Buster drug users?"

"'Course not."

"Are you going to slack off and go to sleep in the middle of a game?"

"No."

"Then what the hell is there to be upset about? Madison, people survive these things."

"You'll understand if I tell you I don't believe you."

Cain looked down at the linoleum floor. "Yeah."

*****

  
The clock above the row of lockers read 1:05. The team was assembled. Most were engaged in idle conversation. Brian Wilson was studiously examining the _New York Times_ crossword. Andres Torres was joking with Pablo Sandoval, and tossed the Venezuelan an apple from a snack table. Bumgarner stood next to Bochy near the center of the room. He scanned all the faces of his teammates, at once familiar and comforting, and simultaneously menacing. His eyes landed on Matt Cain, who gave him a thumbs-up.

Posey was nowhere to be seen. Bochy leaned over and asked Bumgarner where the hell his partner was.

"I don't know," Madison said. "We kinda got in a fight earlier, and I haven't seen him since."

Bochy shook his head. "I knew something like this would happen." He cleared his throat and put his hands up to silence the team. "All right, guys. All right. We need to get this thing started. We gotta talk about something pretty serious here."

One of the big clubhouse doors swung open. Posey stepped through it. "Sorry I'm late," he said, avoiding eye contact with his teammates. He joined Madison and Bochy in the center of the room. Bumgarner wanted to feel relieved, but instead he just felt dread.

"Right," Bochy continued. "Well, as I was saying, we gotta talk about something pretty serious here. For years, people have been wondering what would happen if someone came out in the major leagues. Came out of the, uh, you know, closet. And it looks like we may be about to find out. Ahem. What I'm tryin' to say --"

"Buster and I are gay," Madison blurted. "Together, I mean. We're -- he and I -- we're together. But it's not just that." He wanted to stop himself, keep himself out of the hole he was digging. But momentum is momentum, so Madison rolled on. "Uh, we got in a little..."

"Situation," Bochy said.

"Situation, right. And someone kinda took a picture of us in a bad... _situation_. So...that's out there now. And we just, you know, thought you guys should know."

The room was eerily silent. Madison wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, exactly. There was a half-formed thought about someone standing up, making a big speech and then quitting the team rather than play with a couple of queers. Maybe some hothead would simply walk up and punch him in the mouth. But this, this silence, was much more frightening.

"Obviously, this could be bad," Bochy said. "But we got the media relations folks working on a strategy. This is not -- I repeat, _not_ going to threaten our season. No reason it should. Opening Day is Friday, and we're going to be out there just like always, doing what we do best, okay? In the meantime, someone calls from the papers, you do not talk. Someone calls from KNBR to ask a few questions, you do not talk. Anyone, from anywhere, calls you for comment? You do. Not. Talk."

Murmurs began to trickle through the assembled Giants. Madison gulped. Every eye was focused on Buster and him. He couldn't tell what anyone was saying, but he had a feeling it wasn't plans for a parade. Bochy left the room, presumably to hole himself up in his office. Madison and Buster looked at each other silently, then went to their respective lockers across the room from each other. Posey sat down in a chair and ran his hands through his hair. He picked up a catcher's mitt he'd thrown into his cubby a few days earlier. He turned it over in his hands. He heard Aubrey Huff's voice in a nearby conversation.

"No, I'm not okay with it," the first baseman grumbled. "Are you? I played with guys like that before, and they always had the sense to keep it in their pants. Never bothered anyone. Can you imagine what this is going to do to us? Everyone in those stands is gonna think this makes us all fags. That's all they needed, an excuse. And now they got it."

Posey turned around. "We didn't do it on purpose, Huff. You can choose to believe me or not, but we did not purposely sabotage this team."

Huff's face turned red and he mumbled an almost inaudible apology.

Brandon Belt's baritone echoed from another part of the room. "I don't like it, either."

Posey looked at Belt, who stared back, sneering. He did not apologize.

"Hey, don't listen to them."

Posey jumped slightly. He didn't expect anyone to be that close to him. It was Cody Ross, having pulled a chair close to Buster's locker. "You guys are like my brothers. I'm serious. There's not a thing in the world I wouldn't do for you. I got your back. Always."

Andres Torres chimed in, "You can count me in on that, too."

Posey nodded. "Thanks, guys."

"Some of these guys are going to need some convincing," Ross said. "But they'll come around. Aubrey's right. We've all known at least one guy in the clubhouse, you know?" He leaned in toward Posey and Torres. "Dan Uggla," he whispered, nodding.

Torres _hmm_ ed, turning the thought over in his head.

"I hope you're right," Buster said.

Ross shrugged. "I wish it hadn't happened this way. I really do. But, you know, we go out there and play. That's all we can do."

Brian Wilson walked over. "So Buster, when you guys are fucking, who's the girl?"

Posey looked up at him in astonishment. Ross shook his head in disapproval. Torres' mouth fell open in shock.

The closer raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Too soon?"

The players gradually filtered out of the clubhouse. As the room's population dwindled, Posey took the opportunity to leave. He was halfway to his car when he heard someone running up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw it was Bumgarner. Without looking back, he said, "You thought of some other things you want to blame me for today?"

Madison grabbed his arm. Buster stopped and turned around. "All right," Buster said, "Let's hear it. In what way am I threatening your job now?"

"Buster, I wanted to apologize for saying that. All those things. I mean, yeah, I'm pissed, but you're right. It's not just me on the line here. We both are. I wasn't thinking about that. I got angry. And scared. Anyway, I know you're mad at me. I'll go back to my place tonight, if you want. I don't have to bother you."

He half-expected Posey to walk away, slam the door of his car and peel out of the parking lot. But he didn't. "Madison," he said. "You and I are strong. But we're stronger together. And now is when I need you the most. We _have_ to stick together on this. So when you started going off about your job like I was doing this to you on purpose, it's like you forgot about us. Like you didn't care so much about us anymore."

"But it's not like that," Bumgarner said. "Buster, it's not just baseball. They can break us up. They can trade us away, and we'd see each other maybe once a year. They can put you in Florida, and me in Seattle. They can get us to go away."

Buster shook his head. "No, they can't. They can try, but if they do I will go on every goddamned talk show in this country and tell the world. I don't want to be released. I don't want to be traded. I don't want to quit baseball. I want to stay here and fight."

"That's what I want, too," Madison replied.

"Okay, then. I'm sorry, and you're sorry and everyone's sorry. We gotta move on if we want to stay ahead of this thing. Listen, don't go back to your place tonight."

"Why?"

"You haven't been there in weeks. There probably isn't any food."

"There ain't."

"Then come on. Your toothbrush is at my apartment, anyway."

Brandon Belt walked past the two men. "Didn't know I was at a card game," he spat. "Pair of queens."

Madison started after him, but Posey put a hand on his chest. "He's not worth it, Bum."

"But--"

"Not the week of Opening Day. We need him, and he needs us."

"He ain't gonna get away with that talk."

"No, he isn't," Buster said, "But this isn't the time or place. It's been a long enough day. Let's just go home."

The weight of the day came crashing down on Madison. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His body felt like dead weight. His legs felt weak and his arms hung limply at his sides. His muscles ached and his brain was beyond fried. Buster was right; it was time to go home. But then the next day would come. And the next. And the next. The team, the press -- God almighty, his family. He'd come out to his parents only a month or two before, and now there would be cameras and glaring TV lights thrust into their faces every time they left the house.

"This is going to get bigger and bigger." He sighed. "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this."

"This is just the beginning, Bum."

Bumgarner looked up and right into Buster's tired blue eyes. "I know."


End file.
